I have 2 boobs! I know, how exciting, right? Even better, the clever surgeons made it out of my home-grown belly fat! An eco-boob if you like. No plastic was used. Had I not diligently accumulated enough podge then loads of friends offered to donate, I know ALL the best people. Sadly, unlike blood, vital organs, cash, resources and staff…the NHS is not short of blubber.
I don’t watch much telly. Truth be told I have no idea how to make it work. I can usually get a picture, or sound, getting sound to match the picture rarely happens and I end up getting so angry with it that I give up. I can only assume higher levels of testosterone than I have are required to synch the remotes. Happily this means I don’t watch programmes about plastic surgery….or they’d have had to knock me out to get me to the hospital, much like how The A Team used to get BA on board a plane.
I avoided the Breast Reconstruction Information evening, for fear reconstructed women would flash me and I would have to find nice things to say about their boobs. I struggle meeting new people, it scares me. New people flashing me was a step or ten too far. A nurse later told me that no flashing happens but I was out the other side by then.
Plastic surgery hurts. I am at a complete loss why it’s so popular. Don’t get me wrong, totally worth it to have all my tits attached to me again, and the flatter tummy minus the pregnancy-stretched skin is a lovely bonus but…that is IT. No more non-essential surgery for me. Nope nope nope. I’ll keep my wonky nose, and jowelly chin. I’m 2 weeks post-surgery today and I’m still not back to ‘normal’. I have seams which need looking after. The dressings are off, and they’re just covered with medical tape. The tape peels a bit in the shower so I have a roll to replace the bits that lose their stick. I get checked at the wound clinic later today and I’m worried. I’m missing bits of tape. I can’t replace it as our newest dog, Doof the Romanian Totweiler, chewed my fecking roll of tape! I’m thinking they’ll prefer no tape at the clinic, to a wound dressed with tape with teeth marks in it. At least I’m hoping so, I don’t want to be re-admitted as a) the food is shit b) the beds are uncomfortable c) the post-surgery ward is a big greenhouse d) there’s a heatwave coming.
Also, they have really weird hi-rise toilets. The seat is built up and you have to sort of back up to it and hop up. No mean feat dragging 4 drains and sporting a hip-hip wound. Dr’s are obsessed with when you last opened your bowels, I can tell you it’s nigh on impossible to do when your legs are dangling about 2 inches off the ground and a nurse is calling through the door to ask how you’re getting on. Then, when you claim success, they ask you to identify your poo on a chart. Pictures of poo!!! I just lied and picked the prettiest poo. I could tell I was never getting home otherwise.
Add to that an adverse reaction to anaesthetic (not intentional, despite one Dr making it sound like I’d done it on purpose), a BP that got really bored and wandered off for a day or so leaving me in ICU and blood vessels that weren’t sure they liked their new location and it was a stressful few days. Pat was making me cross as he was insisting on bringing the boys in to see me in ICU and that got my BP back in the game, so Pat thinks he’s practically a Dr now.
The team that cared for me were absolutely brilliant. Both during and after the op, I have nothing but gratitude and awe for all of them. The lead surgeon turned up to see me every morning afterwards, at 7:30…on a Saturday and Sunday.
So, if you are looking at new boob options post breast cancer. I can recommend a DIEP flap reconstruction (I am immature enough that I cannot write that without sniggering). Not going to tell you any more about it, whether you prefer the informed or Ostrich approach, it’s entirely up to you. It’s not a walk in the park, but in my opinion it is worth it.